


Influence

by singingwithoutwords



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, Think Piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1450507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingwithoutwords/pseuds/singingwithoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was there, probably from the beginning or very close to, lurking under his actions and thoughts, prodding him so subtly even he didn't notice.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Influence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Love Is for Children](https://archiveofourown.org/works/684731) by [Ysabetwordsmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabetwordsmith/pseuds/Ysabetwordsmith). 



> A bit of a think piece inspired by comments on Ysabetwordsmith's [Love is For Children](http://archiveofourown.org/series/42722) series, re: Fury and the Tesseract. The specific comments can be found on [chapter 17 of the story Hairpins](http://ysabetwordsmith.dreamwidth.org/9713287.html), currently being posted on dreamwidth.

The change didn't happen overnight. It was gradual, a slow hardening of resolve, a subtle shift in method and goal, a logical progression that, from the outside, appeared to be natural. It was there, probably from the beginning or very close to, lurking under his actions and thoughts, prodding him so subtly even  _he_  didn't notice.

It manifested in an instant, in the frantic, distorted space between  _eyes on me_  and  _Coulson is down_. It exploded with his best friend, his anchor, his one good eye dying, taking maybe what was left of his humanity in the process, as his mind spilled from grief to how the grief of others could be used.

Compared to the man he was yesterday, it was no change at all. It was ruthlessness that had come to be expected of him, the sort of callous manipulation that was just a part of who he was in the eyes of those left behind. Compared to the man he was two decades ago,  _one_  decade ago...

Well, that was no comparison at all.

It was so logical. It just made  _sense_. Phil was dead, his death could be used- why let it go to waste? Phil understood. Phil would forgive him.

Phil was dead; he didn't need his cards anymore.

Phil was dead; his death was still useful.

They needed a push. It was never going to work if they didn't have a catalyst, something or someone to avenge.

They could avenge Coulson, and save the world in the process.

Melodramatic. He knew it was. Just the right note of drama, of showmanship, to send Stark running, shaking with determination in his hidden-heel shoes.

_An old-fashioned notion_. Rogers had spent time with Coulson, who believed in old-fashioned ideals. Who believed in heroes. It stung. It twisted the knife, pushed him, reminded him whose blood that was, told him what needed to be done without saying a word. No direct orders. Plausible deniability. He never actually sent them out, they acted on their own.

They just needed a push.

He gave it to them.

The change happened gradually, manifested suddenly, and settled beneath his skin as he watched the streak of red and gold pass the quinjet. It was stifling, choking out the things that made him who he was, smothering _Nick Fury_  and leaving only  _Director Fury_  behind.

He struggled with it, waging his own battle while the battle for humanity waged in the world beyond him.

The portal closed, returning Stark as its parting gift, and he came to a decision.

This was acceptable.

It had taken the heartless work of a monster to drive the team together and save the world; therefore, the monster was acceptable. The humanity of one man was a small price to pay for the safety of the world.

But the monster would need a leash.

There was work to do.

Coulson understood.

Coulson would forgive him.


End file.
